


In a House of God

by Berettasalts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (technically Samael as Sam is an angel), Angel Sam, Bottom Dean, Church Sex, Demon Dean, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform, altar!kink, okay so maybe there's a little bit of plot, slight AU, suit!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:32:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berettasalts/pseuds/Berettasalts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam is an Angel, Dean is a Demon, Sam rides Dean like a pony, and Dean takes great pleasure in defiling an altar in the House of God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a House of God

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was: _Wincest, angel!Sam/demon!Dean, suit!kink (and/or) priest!kink. Either one tops (you know I'm good either way), over A) a desk B) an alter C) a bar or D) the Impala. Whatever other kinks you wanna include are up to you._

A flutter of wings told him he was no longer alone. Without turning, Dean continued to stare at the pulpit before him, listening to the otherwise unbroken silence of the night. Churches. They were always so quiet, with an air of hushed reverence and fear; it was almost pleasant.

"I’m here," the other said unnecessarily. Dean grinned, showing incisors.

"I thought they might send you."

"I wasn’t sent. I volunteered."

Dean finally turned. His brother (or had once been, long ago) looked human, for all intents and purposes. When he moved, sometimes the flutter of wings could be seen against the dim light, too quick for the human eye to see. Samael. And beside him, the girl floating in midair, levitated horizontally and unconscious. The Harvelle girl. His bride. Dean needed to play this cautiously.

He raised a brow. “And, what? Did you think we were going to negotiate?”

Samael smiled tightly. “Isn’t that what you demons do?”

Touche, but Dean wasn’t going to admit that. If he tried to take her now against Samael’s wishes, he felt certain the girl would simply disappear. If she was truly there in the first place.

"Come now, little brother. Is this the way you really want to do things?"

Samael shrugged lightly. “You want her back, you’re going to have to give something up in return.”

"What makes you think I want her back?"

Sam smiled, thin and stoic. “Let’s not play that game.”

The girl had been chosen for a reason, true. Still, Samael didn’t know nearly as much as he thought he did. His little brother, always so sure of himself and the path in front of him. He eyed her for a moment, hands clasped in front of himself. Both men wore plain dark suits, Sam’s hair stylishly tossed back in a careless way. Dean remembered it long and unkempt, and that it made an excellent handhold.

"There are a lot of human girls," he said. "I could easily choose another. Why do I need her?"

Sam fixed him with a tolerant look. “Yet you chose her.”

It was all he needed to say. Fair enough. Samael didn’t know why Dean had chosen this particular girl as his bride, the woman who would bear him a successor in Hell. But he didn’t need to. All he needed to know was that she was special. Dean was going to have to try another tune.

"Forget the girl," Dean said, waving a hand dismissively. "Take her. Keep her locked away in that celestial prison, for all I care. But I won’t have you meddling in my plans. So, let’s talk, little brother. I’m suddenly in a negotiatory mood."

Sam laughed lightly. “You’re hardly in that position, big brother. What could you possibly have to offer me?”

"I can offer you a lot of things." Dean stepped forward, and Samael bristled, but he merely raised his hand, palm upward, and conjured a bright ball of white light that speared into the darkness of the church, settling in his palm. He waved the opposite hand over it, and Samael watched, curious, starting when he recognized his own face in the vision.

"I can offer you everything you want, what you’ve always longed for. Freedom from responsibility, freedom from the unjust oppression of our Father. It’s unfair, isn’t it? You aren’t even allowed to utter blasphemy, or curses. I can give you a human existance, little brother. It will be short, but it will be a life of free will, of _choice._ ”

Samael did not interrupt him, and Dean knew he had Sam hooked as he stared into the orb of light, a look of almost vicious longing on his face. Dean had once known his little brother extremely well indeed, and it pleased Dean greatly to know that he could still play him like a well-tuned instrument. Almost unconsciously, Sam’s hand came up to touch the orb in which his human self was laughing, smiling, with a young, blond-haired woman next to him. Dean closed his fist abruptly, and the image disappeared.

A fierce disappointment clouded his little brother’s expression, and without speaking, Dean snapped his fingers. Jo Harvelle vanished, warm and safe far below and out of reach from the Angel’s hands.

"You made the right choice, little brother," Dean said, turning to leave.

Sam’s hand on his arm stopped him, but only because the physical contact surprised him enough that he paused. Physical contact was rarely initiated between Angels and Demons. It just wasn’t done.

"You can have her."

Dean smiled tightly. “Kinda missed the memo there, Sam. I already _own_ her.”  
Sam’s grip tightened, and a flash of annoyance crossed Dean’s features, but Sam’s face was resolute with something Dean didn’t immediately recognize - though something he was certain he had seen there before.

"You can have her," Samael repeated, "But she can’t have you.”

Sam’s kiss crushed against Dean’s lips, and for a second, Dean was surprised enough that he entirely forgot his intention to leave. Samael was _kissing_ him, something he hadn’t done in a hundred centuries. Dean was not the same naive Angel he had once been, blindly following their Father’s orders while trying his best to protect those Children of God whom he favoured so highly above his own beloved Angels. This was something that belonged in the past, and yet Sam’s mouth was insistent and demanding like it had never been before. Carefully, Dean raised his hand, cupping the palm against Sam’s face. He was cool to the touch, and Dean knew that his own hand - and the rest of his body - would feel warm to Sam. Without thinking, he closed his eyes, and Samael seemed to take that as acquiescence, because he lifted Dean bodily off the ground and dropped him atop the altar.

Dean was about to protest at being manhandled like a lowly human and not the highly important Demon that he was, but Sam jerked him forward by the tie of his suit and crushed their mouths together again. Dean could have broken away, but in all honesty, he was enjoying this surprisingly aggressive side of his baby brother. It was rather delightful, and Dean opened his mouth, seeking more.

Sam gave a low growl and manoeuvred himself between Dean’s thighs. Sam was hard, undoubtedly hard, and Dean was getting there fast. He felt his jacket being shucked and heard the pop of buttons that told him Samael, who could easily snap his fingers and have them both naked in less than a second, enjoyed the physical sensation of feeling clothing tear under his hands. He stabbed his tongue into Dean’s mouth, tearing at his clothes. Dean could get on board with this, easily. He shifted to allow Sam more room to work - benevolent Demon that he was, who was he to deny his brother this?

Once both were naked, Sam hissing at the press of Dean’s body, hot to the touch, against his own, Dean lifted his thighs and ground himself against Sam, quick and hard. The friction was good, sinful, wonderful. He moved his mouth to Sam’s neck, leaving a trail of scorching kisses behind. Samael tossed back his head, his eyes dialated, breathing heavily. Before Dean could respond, Sam had suddenly flipped him, and Dean found himself bent over the altar on his stomach. He had a flash of premonition of what was about to happen and gripped the sides of the marble slab for leverage. “Wait, Sam - “

The most undignified sound he had ever made escaped Dean when Samael shoved forward, entering him almost dry. It burned, and Dean knew that it was meant to - knew that Sam knew he would want it to. Pain and pleasure, those were where Dean’s wires were a little crossed. His relationship with Alistair, which usually ended the day with the two of them in bed together and Alistair lovingly stroking his hair while he whispered soothingly into his ear, had seen to that. Pain and pleasure went hand-in-hand for Dean. Sam didn’t have to know that in order to _know._

After that initial push home though, Sam’s hands smoothed across Dean’s hips and he felt himself opening, lubricating, relaxing, all of his muscles shifting aside to let Sam and his monstrous body inside. Samael could have chosen any form. Dean had never quite understood his brother’s appreciation for large, muscular bodies, but he couldn’t say he was complaining now. It still ached, but the initial burn was fading, and Dean found himself growing impatient again.

Experimenting, he pushed back against Sam and seated himself to the root.

Sam gasped, and Dean was almost knocked face forward into the marble slab as Sam shoved into him again, moving with sharp, jerky motions that quickly picked up speed. Sam fucked him hard and fast, with a kind of desperation that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant to Dean, and his hands grabbed at various parts of him as though afraid they would vanish entirely. He realized Sam had left the tie on because he was using it to direct his movements, keeping it wrapped around his fist, and Dean wondered when his Angelic little brother had gotten so damn kinky. The pressure at his throat wasn’t enough to be painful, but it would be enough to bruise and it gave Sam an incredible amount of control.  
Dean felt Sam’s hand push down on the lower part of his back, pinning him to the altar, ass up in the air, holding on for dear life. And still, Dean took a perverse kind of pleasure in knowing the hundreds who would come to this place of worship and give their offerings to God without knowing that two of His children had fucked like rabbits on top of their precious stone.

Sam’s short, gasping breaths told Dean that he was getting close, and Dean was rubbing against the cool marble with sharp, whining noises at the lack of friction. “Sam - “

Sam understood. He hauled Dean up again, seated him on his cock, and Dean yelped as he was impaled from a completely different angle, his back against Sam’s chest as Sam pounded him brutally, his knees banging against the unforgiving stone. But Sam’s hand closed around him, and suddenly the angle was A-okay with Dean, because Sam was giving him exactly what he needed, hitting a spot inside him that made him see stars while pushing Dean forward into his fist and whispering into his ear.

"C’mon, Dean. Show me what you’ve got."

Dean squirmed, opened his eyes, and the face of the Holy Saviour mounted on his wooden cross stared mournfully back at him as Dean unloaded everything he had on that marble slab, defiling it with demonic seed and taking a perverse pleasure in knowing that it would never be the same again.

Sam pinned him between the marble and his own equally unyielding body, not moving as he twitched inside Dean, filling him so full that his come leaked down around his thighs.  
Sam pulled out and then pushed back in again, riding out his orgasm with short, shallow thrusts that only pulled out by an inch or so, sliding through the slick of his own come and silently revelling in the wet, squelching sound of their bodies moving together.

Dean was still staring into the silent eyes of the Saviour, and his mouth curved into a demonic grin, immune to His judgement even in this house that belonged to Him.  
He stretched his neck at an awkward angle, and Sam met him in a kiss that went on far longer than it should have. Dean’s body radiated heat, but neither of them were sweating, or even breathing hard.

When he finally pulled away, Dean took a moment to compose himself, and spun on his heel. His clothing returned, intact, and Dean straightened his tie as Samael faced him narrowly, immaculate again.

Neither of them spoke. Samael’s hazel eyes pierced him in a way that was starting to make Dean uncomfortable. What? He was a demon, and this was the sort of thing he did. Dean would not make excuses for himself. He did what he had to, in order to get what he wanted. He was also a _diety._ Guilt, regret, longing, hope - those were all emotions of compassion, and as such, they were far beneath him.

"You can’t have her," Dean said into the silence. The emptiness of the church echoed around him, and he knew that he had been heard in the way he had intended.  
Sam’s eyes glinted, and he smiled tightly in return.

"She can’t have you.”


End file.
